


kiss my eyes (and lay me to sleep)

by shokubeni



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Minor Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unresolved Emotional Tension, god nothing really happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 10:39:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10463016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shokubeni/pseuds/shokubeni
Summary: theo gest tipsy in a party organised by draco and doesn't want to come back home,blaise just suggest to go to his, instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (literally nothing happens in this fic?????????  
> it's just me being soft about theo and blaise??????????  
> it's like 3k words of NOTHING?????)
> 
> please follow my [tumblr](http://crvdence.tumblr.com/) please!

Theo is in a party at the Malfoy's manor, Draco's parents are out, romantic trip to the south of Europe, probably; and Draco has taken the chance to drop a party as usual. Pansy has helped to organise it, and that only meant one thing: The alcohol was going to be never ending.

In fact, Theo is always holding a glass in his hand, and said glass, is always full. He knows this is no charm or magic, but Pansy, dutifully checking on him and refilling his glass with her perfectly manicured blood red nails, looking at him with her black-rimmed eyes and pouty dark lips 'Just get loose a little, will you, no one will bit you, Nott!'

He knows she's doing it from the depth of her heart, the one he knows she has, well hidden if you manage to swim deep enough; thinking that a steady flow of firewhiskey down his throat would strip Theo's from his shyness, his quietness and his social anxiety. But it's not exactly working, because Theo simply doesn't hold his liquor well.

She leaves to mingle with the group of girls in the proximity of Theo, and alone again, his thoughts start to drift as he's looking at the amber liquid in his glass, slowly melting the ice, to the point the sound around him starts to dissipate.

A real man knows how to hold his liquor, Theo's father voice starts to echo inside of his head.

Theo's father often tells him things similar to that, and most of them, revolve about what it takes to be a real man. Real men know how to drink, and how to speak, and how to act. Real men are masculine and elegant, real men are intelligent and cultured, but also ambitious and cunning. Real men are not shy or soft, sissy was his father favourite adjective. His lectures always ended with how much like his mother Theo seemed to be, and how much that was, apparently, shameful.

He doesn't remember much of his mother any more, just flashes of tired smiles, and soft hands touching his hair; but what Theo knew, it's that, he would rather be whatever she seemed to be, than being a real man, than becoming anything closer to his father. 

He would rather be the opposite. 

With the sound blocked away, still lost in his thoughts, Theo takes a while to notice someone is calling out for him, until he blinks, looking up, and finds Blaise in front of him, a same glass of firewhiskey in his hand, but looking probably more composed and sober than Theo is right then.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Blaise's breathless laugh, the one he uses when he's amused at something, makes him stop. “Merlin's beard, how much Pansy made you drink, Theo?”

Theo opens his mouth again, only to close it, looking like a dumb fish, before his lips turn into a shy grin, followed by a small shrug. “S-She... She keeps coming back with firewhiskey.” He explains, and something close to a giggle pass through his lips. 

That's the last hint Blaise needs to know that Theo is actually very tipsy. It almost looks like he has a lisp, with his consonants and vocals tangling together, like he has to slip inside of Theo's throat and undo a knot. “I was just asking if you wanted to leave.” Blaise repeats, not mentioning anything else about Pansy, or the firewishkey, or the way the alcohol gives Theo this soft pink taint on top of his cheek bones.

“Oh...” He looks around, and he notices that, in the time Pansy has been giving him alcohol, Draco has talked to him, and Daphne, Millicent and Tracey came to speak to him between giggles, pretty much everyone was gone, or at least no one is near in sight.  
All Theo could see from there, was Draco gesticulating to what it seemed a very exasperated Pansy, who is holding a half empty bottle of wine in her hand, and who also seems very, very close to either slap or hug Draco. 

There's no doubt they are talking about Potter, again, and no matter how much Theo loved Draco, and he loved him an awful lot; there is a limit of times he could listen to the same story again. The fact Pansy is enduring it, has a lot to do with the fact she's drunk and just insulting Draco for his stupidness up to this point. No filter whatsoever.

So yeah, it's simply stupid to stay in the party any longer, and he knows Blaise is probably as exasperated as he is to listen to Potter sob stories.

But, Theo cannot come back home like this. Not when his steps are unsteady and his speech is slurred. The moment he steps in, and his father sees him, it will give him an excuse to lash out against him. Like he needs any reason to start with. The idea of finishing the night with screams, threads and cruel laughs it's the last thing he needs, and he visibly pales.

He's not really an expressive person, he has that mannerism that comes out as awkward and shy most of the time, but once you learn what a relaxed, normal, Theo looks like, it's actually very easy to pick when his moods change, and Blaise takes a second to notice whatever it's crossing Theo's mind, it's troubling him to the point of blocking him.

“Theo, what's wrong?” Theo switches, as Blaise has waken him up from an unpleasant dream. His large hands moves to rest on Theo's arm, and he can notice how much he's tensing up, every single tendon and muscle pulling and stretching under the skin of Theo's skinny arm. He waits, just staring at him, knowing that overwhelming Theo with questions it's only going to make him retreat more.

After what it seems like minutes, finally Theo's mouth opens. “Real m-men know how to h-hold their liquor.” He's still drunk, and his speech is still slurred, but in a way, the rush of panic has made him sober up, and Blaise can understand him better now. He wants to say something, but Theo starts mumbling again. “My f-father uses to say that. All the time, as if h-he's trying to make me sure I won't forget, as if h-he--”

“Hey, hey.” Blaise doesn't want to interrupt, he knows how hard it's actually for Theo to speak out his mind, but he wants to save him from the spiral of self loathe and fear he seems to be falling onto. It's easy to catch what's going on, and both of Blaise's palms rest at the end of Theo's neck, trying to look into his eyes. “We will go to my house, okay? Will you feel sick if we apparate?”

Theo's eyes flutter to look up at Blaise, and he takes a second to dwell in the feeling of his calloused fingers brushing his jawline. He blinks a few times, as he's trying to register what the other is asking him, before giving a small, timid nod. “I... I don't know.”

Blaise just shrugs, and just takes Theo's hand in his, their fingers entwining together in a pretty contrast of ivory and dark chocolate, before looking at him again. “If you feel sick, throw up in the other direction okay? These shoes are Italian leather.”

The comment is such a Blaise thing to say that, despite everything, it makes Theo laugh. He starts to think that maybe it was on purpose, because the joke and the laughing takes him away from the whole apparation thing, and before he notices, they are in the Zabini's manor, directly in Blaise's bedroom.

Theo is however, a little dizzy, and he has to close his eyes for a second, while his hands are curling on the front of Blaise's shirt, just grounding himself, but he doesn't feel like he will throw up. When he opens his eyes, he finds a room very similar to his own, but with a few quidditch posters on the wall and less books than Theo's own bedroom. When he looks at Blaise's face, he notices he's still clinging to the front of his shirt and he let's go, turning as red as the colour of Pansy's favourite lipstick. “S-Sorry.”

Blaise doesn't seem concerned, and his hand is still curled around Theo's thin wrist. “You okay?” He knows he's just asking in case he throws ups, and either ruins his Italian leather shoes or his expensive rugs, but Theo just basks in the feeling of his voice and his touch like that for the few seconds he has left, because it's rare when someone close to Theo voices out how they actually care about him.

“I... I'm fine.” Blaise releases his wrist when he hears that with a curtly nod, and with a wave of his hand, the door of his wardrobe opens. Theo doesn't know if he has met a man who owns too many clothes, followed close by Draco, but Blaise's is full of jackets and trousers in expensive fabrics and rich colours, and Theo thinks shyly about his very few favourite cotton t-shirts and big sweaters, along the expensive suits his father forces him to buy, and wear.

In the mean time, Theo gets distracted looking around, focusing on the walls, Blaise has a few posters of the Montrose Magpies quidditch team hanging above his desk, and he remembers that Marcus plays there. He also has posters of players he knows nothing about, because Theo is quite smart and he's tied with Granger in Arithmancy but he doesn't know anything abut quiddtich, or quidditch players, or teams. Above Blaise's bed, there's a huge poster of the Italian national quidditch team that makes Theo smile, before he turns around when the other calls his name.

Blaise is just wearing a grey t-shirt, and Theo feels like someone has punched him in the base of his stomach and now he's unable to breath. He cannot help to look, because Blaise's legs are an endless expanse of dark chocolate, seemingly smooth and not flawed, and Theo hates he doesn't seem to be able to look away from them. 

He knows Blaise is fit, all the quidditch and taking care of his body and all the things he does and that he tries, sometimes, to make Theo follow, but he can't exercise or run to save his life, and he hates flying. But to see him, so close, just wearing a piece of clothing, it's something Theo wasn't really ready to face. Not now, or even.

A raised eyebrow shows Theo, however, that Blaise seems amused at his staring, and it only makes his face flush red again, to his dismay. “I will find something for you to wear?” He asks, head tilted, because he knows he cannot sleep with the suit he's wearing.

Theo looks down at himself and nods shyly, wishing he could learn a spell that would make his flushing disappear just by thinking about it. He looks from Blaise's legs to his face and nods a few times. “I... I would like wearing trousers, though.”

To his surprise, Blaise laughs at his words, but soon a bundle of dark and grey clothes are settled on his hands. “I can't sleep with trousers on, okay?” He shrugs, defensive. “Get changed, I will bring us something for the hangover.”

The hangover potion was perfected over the years by Pansy, who else?, and by then, not only made sure you weren't going to have any kind headache or dizziness after drinking, it also didn't taste like someone died in your mouth. Pansy produced loads of it, and both Blaise and Draco had a vast number of bottles as well, because it worked like magic.

When Blaise comes back to his room, Theo has folded his clothes on his desk and he is dressed in the black t-shirt and the soft grey cotton trousers. Theo isn't really much shorter than him, it's just he's always doubled over himself, as if he's trying to take less space, but he's very skinny so the big collar of the t-shirt falls loose around his shoulder, and Blaise gets lost in the shrivel of pale skin and defined collarbone in the same way Theo got lost in his legs before.

“Here, take this.” He hands one of the glasses to him, smiling. “It's Pansy's magic juice.”

He smiles right away, knowing and trying Pansy's most infamous potion beforehand. “I promise I won't throw up in your Italian sheets.” Theo says, with a shrug, but there's this hint of a playful grin on his features.

Blaise drinks the potion like it's a shot, and when Theo speaks, he's already done with it. So he just clicks his tongue, waving a hand in front of his face. “It's Egyptian cotton, Nott. Learn it well.”

He only calls him Nott when they are being playful with each other, and he holds his stare and chuckles into his glass as he finishes drinking the potion. When he's done, he looks a little shy, but Blaise takes his glass from his hand and leaves both of them on top of the desk.

There's a moment of complete silence, and Theo swears he can hear the sound of his own heartbeat in the middle of the quiet room, thrumming heavily and quick against his ribcage. Before the atmosphere can turn into something more awkward, Blaise circles his hand around Theo's wrist, and with a wave of his free hand, the sheets and the blankets move. “Come on, I'm tired.”

Before he can say something, Theo is pulled to lie on the mattress, and the very soft Egyptian cotton sheets, by Blaise's hand and he turns very stiff, even if he's tired and sleepy, and wants to relax, curl into himself and sleep. 

While he's covered up to his chin, Blaise is lying on his back next to him, his sheets barely covering half of his chest. He guesses their body temperatures are drastically different, and he adds it to the reasons he's envious about him. His looks, his height, his popularity, his smoothness and his warm body temperature.

“Sleep tight, Nott.” Blaise's voice comes to him, somehow thick with how sleepy he's starting to feel, and Theo, starting to relax more, curling to himself next to his body, simply nods before he speaks.

“Night, Zabini.” He doesn't miss the chuckle leaving the other's mouth, but it only helps to relax him more, giving him two, three tired blinks before he dozes off in what it seems like an easy, dreamless sleep thanks to Pansy's trademark potion. 

Theo tends to have nightmares, and to never sleep well, Blaise has always known, since he has shared a room with him since the first year in Hogwarts, but it's the first time they share a bed like this. The alcohol, tiredness and Pansy's potion seems to strip away most of the anxiety Theo releases in his sleep, but it doesn't hold him back from moving in the middle of the night, his body seeking out to the warmth emanating from Blaise's skin.

Blaise is not a heavy sleeper, he has never been, and he was always the first one to wake up when Theo's nightmares made him scream; so the moment he feels pressure against his side, he groans, rolling his eyes open just to find Theo, asleep with fluttering eyelids, somehow trying to adjust himself against his chest.

He releases a small sound, like a grunt, and one of his arms move to circle around Theo's small waist. It makes the other sigh in his sleep, snuggling up to him until his cheek is resting on his chest. They both fall into a deep sleep right after, and neither of them move until morning comes.

When they wake up the next day, there's no trace of any headache or dizziness thanks to the expertise of Pansy, and Blaise's arm is still circled loosely around Theo's even when the other moves, his cheeks burning a deep red, when he notices they spent the night sleeping like that.

“Did you sleep well?” It's all Blaise asks, running his other hand up his face, side smiling at the pink and red blotches all over Theo's cheeks.

Theo doesn't say anything and nods, but the smile adorning his features it's more than enough.


End file.
